Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

4760 Preston Road

Suite 244-149

Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the

author‘s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

Copyright © 2011 by Felicia Watson

Cover Art by Anne Cain [email protected]

Cover Design by Mara McKennen

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by

any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information

storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where

permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press,

4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-61581-793-1

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

January, 2011

eBook edition available

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-794-8

To Beth, who helped this happen,

and to Ed and Dorrie for their unflagging support—thanks.

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

1

Chapter 1:

Anger and Intolerance

Anger and intolerance are the twin enemies of understanding.

—Mahatma Gandhi

IT HAD been just about one of the worst days of Logan Crane‘s life.

At work, he had volunteered for the hot, dusty job of unloading a

bulk delivery of mulch, knowing that it was usually considered a one-

man job and he would have three or four hours of toiling in blissful

solitude. Unfortunately for Logan, not one but three trucks of wood

chips had been ordered by the garden center manager, who was gearing

up for the spring rush.

So instead of the peaceful afternoon he‘d anticipated, Logan was

stuck working with Petey and José, two very young, very loud

colleagues who talked non-stop over the radio they had blasting hip-

hop music. The constant yammering and grating music competed with

the bright sunshine for the privilege of drilling a gash of pain into

Logan‘s brain.

As he clocked out, Logan grumbled to himself that for all the help

Petey and José had been, he might as well have worked alone.
Maybe if

they’d keep their shirts on and pull up their goddamned pants, they

could get some work done.
The sight of sweaty, bronzed flesh and the

constant flashes of clinging underwear had jangled Logan‘s nerves as

badly as had the accompanying racket. He dismissed the sensation as

annoyance at having to work with these ―wild city kids.‖

Calling them city kids was a slight stretch since North Braddock,

Pennsylvania, was not technically
in
Pittsburgh, though it was part of

the greater metropolitan area. At any rate, it was certainly more urban

than his old hometown of Elco had been. Turning his bright blue Ford

150 towards home, Logan swallowed down the longing for the days

when he had earned his living quietly fixing cars in his small, run-down

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shop in Elco. Thirteen months earlier, Logan had moved his family

forty miles north to take a job in the motor gang at the Edgar Thomson

Steel Works. A job that his brother-in-law had arranged at great

trouble, a job that had lasted only twelve weeks.

Willing away that gloomy memory, Logan trudged up the steps to

apartment D3, situated towards the back of the bustling Palisade Manor

complex. As he slouched down the hallway, he did his best to ignore

the growing Saturday evening bustle emanating from the neighboring

units; right then, Logan craved only some cold beer and a quiet dinner.

His wife, Linda, greeted him at the door, though evidently not

offering either of the two things he wanted. She pecked her husband on

the cheek, observing, ―You‘re late.‖

―Took some overtime to finish up the job I was doin‘.‖

―Thank God—we sure can use the money.‖

―Yeah,‖ Logan mumbled as he headed for the kitchen.

―Where‘re you goin‘?‖

―Gonna warsh my hands and get me a Iron City; relax a little

before dinner.‖

―You don‘t have time,‖ Linda said, frowning at his grimy shirt

and jeans. ―Just go ahead and jump right in the shower.‖

―Right now? What for?‖

―The Trimbles‘re having a party tonight an‘ we‘re invited.‖

―You didn‘t say nothin‘ ‘bout a party this mornin‘.‖

―It‘s a last minute thing; Kim just called a few hours ago. Come

on, hon,‖ Linda wheedled. ―It‘ll be a night out for the two of us and it

won‘t cost anything.‖

―How ‘bout a babysitter?‖

―Oh, we don‘t need one for this. Krista can keep an eye on

Meghan for a few hours—bet you did more than that when you were

twelve. Anyway, we‘ll be right across the parkin‘ lot.‖

―I ain‘t up for no party, you jus‘ go on without me.‖

―Don‘t be like this, Logan. At least we can take advantage of

havin‘ people around who like to have a little fun now an‘ then.‖

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

3

―We just saw the Trimbles last Sunday when I replaced Don‘s

goddamn water pump, ‘member?‖

―That‘s one of the reasons they invited us—to thank you.‖

―If they really wanted to thank me, they would‘ve dropped off a

case of beer. Neighbors here can‘t leave ya in peace. All they wanta do

is pry and gossip. I had a rough day and I ain‘t—‖

―Oh no—you ain‘t pullin‘ that shit on me, mister. I work just as

hard as you, and I need this.‖

Logan‘s rising annoyance caused an equivalent rise of several

decibels in his answer. ―So? I said go ‘head.‖

Linda didn‘t shrink from matching his tone or volume. ―I already

went to two parties without you—folks here‘re gonna start thinkin‘

there‘s somethin‘ wrong with you.‖

That phrase twisted the invisible band around Logan‘s head even

tighter, and in response he raged, ―What the fuck does that mean?‖

―It means you‘re goin‘ to this party,‖ Linda shouted back.

Logan was preparing to vent his fury at his mulish wife when he

saw the pale, worried face of his elder daughter peeking around the

doorway. Knowing his girls, he guessed that her ten-year-old sister was

probably right behind her. The kids had evidently been summoned by

their parents‘ irate voices—though heated arguments had become an

all-too-common occurrence during their time in Braddock.

Logan‘s anger swiftly died, extinguished by a blanket of guilt.

Without another word, he headed for the bathroom to prepare himself

for an evening promising only unwelcome noise and unwanted

companionship.

Later, at the party, Logan tried to inoculate himself against the

misery of the night by indulging in more than his share of the cheap

whiskey on offer while completely ignoring the soda and greasy pizza

his hosts had provided.

Always a man who prided himself on holding his liquor, Logan

showed only the slightest signs of inebriation as he and Linda prepared

for bed later that night. The cut-rate booze had done nothing good for

his mood while only aggravating his headache; he yearned for oblivion

as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his work boots.

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Felicia Watson

Unfortunately, when Linda joined him in their small master

bedroom moments later, she was not yet ready to let the evening go.

―Did you hear what Joann was tellin‘ me? They‘re takin‘ their kids to

Disney World for spring break.‖ Linda‘s tone slid from innocent to

accusatory as she continued. ―Sure would be nice if we could do

somethin‘ like that for our girls.‖

Logan knew immediately that Linda was working her way

towards yet another ―discussion‖ of their shaky financial situation. He

hated
the way these conversations ended up as stereo in his ears—his

wife‘s nagging doubling the drumbeat of his own guilty conscience.

In a vain attempt to head her off, he said, ―You know I‘m lookin‘

for something better.‖ Squinting wearily into the glare of the yellow

light coming from the bedside table, he added, ―There just don‘t seem

to be too many mechanic jobs to be had right now.‖

Not mollified in the least, Linda crossed her arms and snapped,

―Even if there was, it ain‘t like it‘d pay as good as the mill did.‖

Prodded by the emergence of a stinging subject, the embers of

Logan‘s anger flared back to life hotter than ever. He jumped to his feet

and strode around the bed to face his accuser directly. ―Fuck! Do you

wanna fight about this
again
?‖

―I‘m not looking to start a fight; it‘s just that Marie says—‖

―I know what your sister says, and she doesn‘t know anything

about it. Let it go, Linda.‖ He turned away, heading back to his side of

the room to finish undressing.

Linda stayed him by grabbing at his sleeve while insisting, ―It

isn‘t just Marie. Bob thinks you could maybe get back in the mill, too.

They need another mechanic on swing shift, he says. If you‘d jus‘ go to

Chuck and apologize—‖

―I‘m tellin‘ you,‖ Logan growled, biting each word off, ―for the

last time. I ain‘t crawlin‘ back to that fuckin‘ foreman!‖

―You stubborn bastard. First good job you ever got, and you gotta

go an‘ ruin it. Bob warned you that the guy was an asshole when they

hired you on—all you had to do was ignore him.‖

By now the couple was standing toe-to-toe, breathing fire at each

other while their angry voices ricocheted through the small apartment

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

5

and across the complex. Logan leaned down into his wife‘s equally red

face, snarling, ―Chuck deserved that beating—deserved worse. Son of a

bitch called me a cocksucker!‖

―So what? Is that the end of the world? Big, bad Logan can‘t take

a little bit of name-calling?‖

―Shut up!‖ Logan grabbed Linda by the shoulders and backed her